A Site for Shore Eyes

My father died almost 21 years ago, when I was 40, and I consider myself very fortunate. One thing that always stuck in my mind was a day way back in first grade when we learned the song, “Whispering Hope.” A classmate who sat beside me said that they played that song at his father’s funeral. That one statement haunted me all during my youth and much of my adulthood.

In the world of so-called “normalcy,” my father probably would have scored poorly in quite a few departments, but he was only capable of doing things his way, and that was good enough for me. In many ways he tried hard, and had a very soft heart. When he brought home a comic book for me and asked if I already had it, I rarely could bring myself to tell him that I had already read that one. He probably would have wanted me to be honest about it, but I also found it difficult to hurt someone’s feelings, especially my dad’s. Even now, I regret many of the things I said to each of my parents at one time or another, and wish I could take every one of them back.

My dad possessed many talents. He could take apart anything, analyze it, and put it back together. His carpentry and masonry skills were way above average, and some of the buildings he built over 40 years ago are still going strong. He also spent a number of years as a professional photographer. One skill he lacked, however, was figuring out how to get paid what he was worth, and this hurt the family considerably. He worked as a mechanic, both on airplane engines and automobiles. He ran his own construction business while he and my mom ran a photo processing business. During his final 20 or so working years, though, he worked at an amusement pier, performing all the carpentry and repairing all the rides when they broke down. They paid him a pitiful hourly wage, but he enjoyed considerable freedom with his work hours, especially during the off season.

In may ways, our home life wasn’t the greatest. Some would consider it horrific, and perhaps it was, in some ways, but I never really blamed my parents, because I knew that they loved each of us, even if their actions were often suspect. Nothing they ever did was done with the intention of causing pain to their children. Yet, they inspired me in a strange way. I resolved that if I had children (I have two daughters) they would never have to experience a home life similar to mine. They would always have a decent place to live, with their own bedrooms, decent clothes, and food on the table.

What about your father? Is he the perfect father? Is he what you think he should or could be? Does he meet up to your expectations? Does he have the perfect job? Does he behave the way you think he should? What do your friends think of him? Are you ashamed to be seen with him? Are you unforgiving of his faults, because you feel that your life should have been better?

Not one of us has the “perfect” father. Some may seem more perfect than others, but each is guided by his own inner self. He may well be doing the best he is capable of, even if it’s not what you think it should be. It’s important to remember that, without him, you never would have existed, and for that, you should at least be thankful, even if you think he owed you a better life. It’s okay to love someone, even if that person doesn’t follow all of the rules you have established for that individual.

Life however, is what you make it, not what someone else makes it for you. Before asking yourself if you have the perfect father, maybe you should give some thought as to whether or not he had the perfect son or daughter. . .

Back in March 1962, I watched a couple of homes float away down the Intracoastal Waterway, probably a once-in-a-lifetime event for the home owners. The laughing gulls would probably laugh with joy if that were all they had to put up with!

The new moon, coupled with a southeasterly flow, brought tidal flood levels to the Anglesea Marsh over several consecutive cycles. The marsh temporarily disappeared during each high tide, as the laughing gulls watched their homes float away. Some of the gulls, especially the immatures, also floated around, looking a bit bewildered. The adults flew around frantically, and their laughs sounded more like cries of despair.

Yes, they managed to regroup each time and build new nests that lasted about as long as your standard sandcastle at water’s edge.

The only gulls really capable of laughing were the herring gulls and great black-backed gulls. Because both are considerably larger than the laughing gulls, they maintain control of all higher areas of the marsh largely unaffected by flooding. The ospreys have an even greater advantage, looking down from their nests atop poles, perhaps enjoying a bit of sweet revenge.

You see, when an osprey ventures into an area occupied by large numbers of laughing gulls, the gulls don’t think it’s a bit funny, so they attack the intruder tenaciously. The osprey’s usual cocky shriek becomes almost a screechy whimper as it tries to evade its attackers and flee the area.

Conservationists build platforms on pilings for osprey nests. Perhaps they should consider building little platforms in the marshes for the laughing gulls, but most likely, the herring and black-backed gulls would take them over anyway.

Usually, the best solution to a problem in nature is to leave well enough alone, because none of these creatures ever ask for human assistance. Often, human intervention only exacerbates the problem in unforeseen ways. Feed a seagull and create a pest barely capable of searching for its own food. The boardwalk laughing gulls act almost like homeless people, waiting around for handouts from the tourist food kitchen. Sometimes they even blatantly steal from people who had no intention of sharing their snacks with the vagrant birds.

At the other end of the spectrum, herring gulls have adapted well to human intervention. These shore birds are capable of opening clams and crabs only by dropping them on a hard surface. At ocean’s edge, the only available area is the surf-hardened sand, but few such areas existed near the marshes until paved roads and hard rooftops entered the scene. In some areas, low tides expose surfaces hard enough, but in many areas, the mud is as spongy as the marshes themselves. The harder road surfaces also allow them to drop from a considerably lower height, and they rarely have to worry about other gulls beating them to their newly-opened dinners.

Feeding seagulls is against the law, mainly because they stop searching for natural food, but there is an upside to all of this. I’ve recently seen some fiddler crabs running around at water’s edge, clutching little signs in their claws that read, “Eat More Pizza!”

In one of my recent articles I offered advice concerning avoiding shark bites by limiting your bathing to ankle-deep water. I still stand (no pun intended) by this advice, even though a shark attacked a lady standing in fairly shallow water, in Myrtle Beach, SC. Initially, reports indicated that the victim was in ankle-deep water, but later reports stated that the water depth was to the middle of her thighs.

My instructions specifically stated a maximum depth of eight inches, and at that depth, the only sharks capable of attacking you are daddy long legs sharks, which have mouths too small to bite a human. There I go again. My research assistant just informed me that it’s the daddy long legs spider that I’m referring to. Okay, so you don’t have to worry about daddy long legs spider body surfers, because they can’t bite you, and neither could the daddy long legs sharks, if there were such a thing.

You know, I’m getting tired of people butting in and telling me that killer whales come up almost to the beach and eat SEALs. I checked with the U.S. Navy, and there has not been one instance of a SEAL being eaten by a killer whale, with the exception of one who worked at Sea World after getting out of the Navy. Anyway, I was responding to a question concerning shark safety, not safety from killer whales. You are NEVER safe from killer whales at the beach!

Anyway, I just read that your chances of being attacked by a shark are about 11.1 million to one, unless you actually go in the water, so the lady in Myrtle Beach should probably buy a lotto ticket.

Cape May made the news again. Seems that one of their policeman used one of the municipality’s dump trucks (with permission) to perform some private landscaping work. Fortunately for him, he received no monetary compensation for the job, which explains why he covered up the city’s logo with the logo of his landscaping company. This whole thing seems logical to me, because how could he afford to buy his own truck for his business if he doesn’t charge for his services? I think the three-day suspension he received was a bit harsh, but maybe not, because I don’t know how much money he didn’t receive for the job.

Cape May also invited the New Jersey State Police to welcome visitors to the island during the Memorial Day weekend by setting up a Click It or Ticket program at the entrance. Any driver or front-seat passenger not buckled up received a $46.00 summons. In a show of good will, Governor Corzine volunteered to pay for the tickets himself. Cape May certainly knows how to bring people back!

Wildwood is still trying to figure out what material to use for its boardwalk replacement program, or whatever it is they call it. They’re now leaning toward recycled doo-wop motel material from the city landfill.

If you want to worry about something other than sharks, a lady in Bridgeton was just arrested for stabbing her boyfriend in the leg. About a year ago, he stabbed himself in the chest by walking into a knife she was holding. She was convicted in 2000 for stabbing another guy to death. Your chances of being attacked by this lady, in or out of the water, are estimated at about 1200 to 1.

While Cape May officials continue scratching their collective heads concerning parking meter rates, the Philadelphia Parking Authority, AKA PPA, already has a better plan working. It’s called “free parking,” and generates much more revenue than paid parking. Yes, you read that correctly; “ free parking” brings in more money than paid parking.

The PPA, in its infinite wisdom, also went through a lengthy head-scratching era when it considered installing parking meters in residential areas. Eventually the newly-bald members concluded that parking meters cost money, must be maintained and repaired, and the money must be collected and counted on a regular basis. Signs, on the other hand, still require an initial cash outlay, but require very little maintenance (no moving parts) and the patrons can mail in the free parking fees.

I know, you’re probably saying, “Well, if the parking is free, how can they charge a fee?” Well, they employ two methods, both proven effective. Plan One limits the time, just like a parking meter, but without requiring initial payment. Plan Two limits the hours when free parking is permitted. During my 44 years of driving, I’ve had three parking tickets, two from the PPA, and one from the city of Athens, Georgia, where (and I am not making this up) they put up temporary no-parking signs after I had already parked there. A police officer (and I am not making this up, either) watched me park there and never said anything to me.

Anyway, my first experience with the PPA occurred a few years ago in Manayunk, when I went to eat dinner with some friends. One of them, who lived in the area, told me that I didn’t have to put coins in the meter after eight P.M. He was correct, that is, if we had parked in the more ideal locations closer to the restaurant, but since we had to walk a block-and-a-half, the free parking started at ten P.M. After receiving the summons, I drove back to check, and was surprised that the times on the signs changed, depending on the area. Some started at nine P.M. Minor detail, so I just paid the $175.00.

My next encounter occurred a few days ago, when my wife and I went to visit a property she owns on Bainbridge Street. We found a parking spot about a half block away, and the signs did proclaim two-hour parking. Our purpose of the visit was to interview contractors to perform some work so we can (thankfully) sell the stupid place. We spent several hours there, and at one point I thought about moving the vehicle and looking for another space, but shrugged it off as ridiculous. Apparently, it would have been a good idea, because a violation notice announced that we owed $26.00 to the PPA.

This reinforced my belief that living in the area would be a really bad idea. I can’t imagine sitting at home and going out to move my vehicle every two hours! I suppose residents get some sticker or something, but we certainly didn’t have one.

Anyway, we headed down Broad Street on our way home, cruising past the endless rows of vehicles parked in the no-parking zones in the center of the street. I also reflected on other areas of South Philly, such as (but not limited to) Porter Street, where cars double- and triple-park, ghost park (double-parking when no car is at the curb) and park in the middle of the street at traffic lights. No one in these areas ever receives a violation, proving once again the importance lubrication plays in maintaining continual operation of something. In this case we’re talking about keeping pockets well-greased, or maybe PPA members have some phobia about horse’s heads, who knows?

This story, however, has a somewhat-happy ending. We arrived home and discovered that my income tax check had arrived. The amount was $30.00, giving me a net return of $4.00. Let’s hear it for Brotherly Love!